Stolen
by ninemelodies
Summary: His fiance was taken from him two years ago. In return, he takes flowers from another's garden.


Written while listening to Cough Syrup - Young the Giant

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Pounding footsteps broke the silence that filled the square in the oncoming twilight. "Wait!" called the owner of the pounding footsteps. "Please, wait!" Demyx tried one last time to get the half deaf flower shop owner to realize his presence. Mrs. Gainsborough paused for a minute, but then shrugged and inserted her key into the lock on the door. She turned it and Demyx swore he could hear the tumblers in the lock click from across the street. There was no other flower shop in town and there weren't any wild flowers in post-war Radiant Garden.

With a heavy heart, Demyx watched as Mrs. Gainsborough disappeared into the shadows, a light melody and the scent of flowers following in her wake. He turned around, head hung low and began heading towards the cemetery. On the way down a mostly restored residential street, a flash of color caught his eye. He hesitated, eyes trained on the spot where he had seen the bright pink flash. There! It happened again! Curiosity forced his feet to bring him closer, closer, until he could see over the wooden fence that surrounded the yard.

 _Flowers._ Rows upon rows of flowers stretched from the fence to the dark house. A grin stretched across his face, elation making him lightheaded. There were flowers! But they weren't his flowers, and they weren't wildflowers either. He paused, debating with himself. If he didn't get the flowers, he would miss the anniversary, but if he did get the flowers, they would be stolen. He glanced at them again, noticing for the second time just how many there were. He chewed his lip for another minute before leaning over the wooden fence to grab a couple. No one would notice if he just took two.

"Ahem!" The loud clearing of a throat made Demyx jump, hands immediately going behind his back to hide the flowers he'd taken with him. Then there was silence, during which Demyx was acutely aware of the dirt underneath his fingernails and the soft feel of petals on the back of his arm. A cold drop of sweat rolled down the back of his neck when the stranger began to speak. "So, you mind telling me why you're stealing my flowers?"

At first, Demyx wouldn't look up from the toes of his sneakers. He knew he shouldn't have taken the flowers, now this guy was going to call the cops on him and he was going to be in all kinds of trouble. When he looked up, he knew his ears and cheeks were burning with shame. "I'm sorry," he stammered out. "I need them."

The stranger scoffed quietly. "My name is Axel, and as you know, those are my flowers behind your back." He walked closer, into the circle of light provided by the streetlight. "I'm going to go set my bag down inside, and then I am going with you." Then Axel walked off, leaving Demyx standing on the curb, staring after him with a wrinkled brow.

Go with him? What did that mean? Did Axel, a complete and total stranger, really want to walk Demyx all the way to the graveyard? Demyx was still pondering the meaning of his words when the redhead returned. "Alright, let's go make sure this girl is pretty enough to warrant flower theft." He motioned for Demyx to begin walking.

Demyx's brow smoothed out. So that was it. Axel thought these flowers were for a girl, a date. Oh how wrong the redhead was. For some reason, Demyx couldn't bring himself to run, or to break it to the redhead that they weren't heading towards a girl, but towards a plot of land filled with bones and stone markers. He didn't talk until they reached the gate to the cemetery. Upon seeing that it wasn't locked, Demyx counted his lucky stars that his work hadn't held him any later. The gate let out a loud creak when he pushed it open. He marched forward, refusing to look at the redhead. He followed a twisting path, not really looking at his feet. This walk had become second nature to him by now.

The headstone he stopped at was small and simple. It was a book, flipped open to its middle. The engraving on the pages read, "Zexion Douglas. Sept 6 1989 – May 22 2013." There was no rest in peace; no you will be missed message. Just the cold, impersonal stone with the cold, impersonal numbers etched into it. Demyx sat down in front of the stone, reaching out to cover the engraving with the flowers he had stolen from Axel's garden. From somewhere behind him, he could feel the redhead's presence. "Hey," Demyx whispered, fingers lingering on the stone. "I almost didn't make it this time. Work held me late. I miss you." His voice cracked and his vision became watery. "I can't believe you've been gone two years." The redhead behind him took a step, reminding Demyx that he wasn't alone like normal. "Those flowers weren't for a girl," Demyx spoke quietly, his words like a whisper carried on the wind.

Axel shifted uncomfortably, unsure what to do. Eventually, he just sat down next to Demyx. "Who was he?" Axel asked, lifting the flowers to read the engraving.

"My fiancé." Demyx reached into his shirt, pulling out a chain with a ring on it. "He proposed before he got called out, and the wedding was supposed to be after he got back." There was no need to say that Zexion never returned. Demyx let silence fill the space between them, unsure why he was even telling such a complete stranger all this.

"Where did he go?" The redhead asked, in a vain attempt to keep the blond from being alone with his thoughts.

"Got called out to help with this damn war," Demyx waved a hand around, motioning to the ruins and debris that still covered every corner of Radiant Garden. "The war destroyed my home and then took him from me." He sighed and put his face in his hands. "Zexion was a brilliant strategist. He could whoop my butt at a game of chess any day. That's what they needed him for – planning and battle strategies. He said that he wouldn't be on the front lines; he said that he would be safe." Demyx moved his hands to scrub at his eyes. "They took over the base the night of April 22nd, killed everyone inside execution style. They sent a video of them all to our leaders. The next morning I was woken up by two officers in uniform knocking on my door and neither of them was Zexion."

To say he felt bad was an understatement. Axel felt like a royal piece of shit for the way he had just assumed earlier. "I need to apologize…for how I acted earlier. I didn't realize…" He let the sentence hang in the air, unfinished. "My boyfriend, Roxas, is out there right now, fighting in this war. He's on the front lines, risking everything so that things back here will be safe."

Demyx gave a quiet snort. "Zexion kept trying to get me to join before he left. He always told me that I was a good fighter, that I could help with my, in his words, 'excellent control of water magic.'"

For now, Axel chose to keep quiet about Roxas telling him the same thing. "Why didn't you?"

"I'm a coward." The softness was gone from Demyx's voice. It was all harsh words and sharp tongue now. "I wasn't like him; I couldn't just shove fear aside for the greater good. I'm selfish. I didn't want to die, and I knew that joining the army increased my chances of doing so by a lot. The day before he left we got in a fight about it." Suddenly, all the harshness drained from him, and he slumped down. "I didn't even tell him goodbye. I just slammed the door and went to work. When I came back he had already left."

"He loved you right?" Axel looked over at Demyx, continuing to speak when he saw the blond nod. "Then I'm sure he would forgive you." The redhead leaned back on his palms to look up at the stars. They remained at the graveyard for another hour. Axel stargazed and provided as much comfort to the sniffling blond as he could.

"We have to go now," Demyx finally said. "They lock the gates at 9." The blond stood up and brushed off the back of his pants. Axel did the same. "Goodbye," Demyx muttered, crouching down to brush his hands over the gravestone once again. It might've just been his imagination, but he was sure the stone was warmer than the night air surrounding it, and he was sure that if he focused, he could feel a hand on his shoulder. As he walked out the cemetery gate, the wind whispered goodbye back.


End file.
